Actually, I couldn't help but begin to think about the differences. I thought about them first along the Battle Road and Old North Bridge near Concord, Mass. However, I thought about them even more at Saratoga, New York. In fact, the personal connection with Saratoga was even greater... because I had family present at the battle.

While the majority of my Revolutionary War ancestors served in either the Virginia or Pennsylvania Line, at least two ancestors served as "Hessians" in the Hesse-Hanau Erbprinz Regiment. The regiment was in North American just over a year by the time of the battle at Saratoga (actually, the second battle of Saratoga, otherwise known as the Battle of Bemis Heights), having been with Gen. Burgoyne's advance out of Quebec and south along Lake Champlain. However, the "legacy" of my Hessian ancestors (and for that matter, any of my Rev War ancestors) was not something that was passed along in family stories.

After doing a little digging, I realized that one of my fifth great grandfathers (Christian Strohl) may have been a Hessian. However, I had no idea where to confirm this. Then, while reading through a Confederate relative's (James Huffman of Co. I, 10th Virginia Infantry) account of the Civil War (in Ups and Downs of a Confederate Soldier), I found an account that was quite "fresh on the trail." I say it was "fresh," because James Huffman was the son of one of Christian Strohl's fourteen children (and so, there was little time for embellishment over the years and little chance of much distortion). James Huffman remarked on page 139 of his book that "From the best information I can get, grandfather Christian Strole came here from Germany in the British Army, during the Revolutionary War and was captured one day while straggling from camp by American Cavalry. Also two Huffman companions were captured. This information I obtained from parties in no way interested and it was voluntary and endorsed by a near relative."

Then, just over two years ago, I tapped into some great resources and realized that Christian served in the Hesse-Hanau Erbrinz Regiment, having enlisted in Germany in February 1776. I soon realized that he probably did not see much action, even though he was in Burgoyne's campaign, which ended in surrender only days after the Battle of Saratoga. My guess was he probably didn't even get to fire his flintlock (and, when I visited Saratoga, my guess was pretty much confirmed... the regiment having spent most of the campaign guarding the artillery and supply train). Nonetheless, being on the same ground upon which he stood, while the fighting waged in nearby fields, was still a thrill.

Following the surrender, Strohl spent time in Cambridge, Mass. (held at either Prospect Hill or Winter Hill), followed by a time at the barracks in Charlottesville, Virginia (Albemarle Barracks); Frederick, Maryland, and finally, Reading, Pennsylvania. Experiencing some horrible conditions by this time, he offered himself up for indenture, and his indentured was purchase by Michael Kiser on September 11, 1782. Like Strohl, Kiser himself was a native of Rumpenheim, having been born there, likely a son of Valentine and Maria Eppart Kiser. Kiser had left Germany in 1750 (nearly 26 years before Strohl took the boat ride across). Kiser was also a veteran of the American Revolution, having served in Capt. Philip Krick's 8th Company, Fourth Battalion, Pennsylvania Line (possibly militia). Kiser's name appears on a list of fines assessed in the years 1777-1778 for being absent from muster or drill.

Interestingly, the purchase of Strohl's indenture by Kiser may not have been purely coincidence as the Reformed Lutheran church records from Rumpenheim show that the Kayser and Strohl families lived near each other, attended the same church, intermarried, and witnessed each other's baptisms. The Strohl/Strole birth and baptism certificate shows that Christian Strole was confirmed at this church in Rumpenheim in the spring of 1772. There may be a remote possibility that Kiser purchased Strohl's indenture and subsequently freed him because their families were closely linked in Germany. Nevertheless, not long after purchasing Strohl's indenture, sometime in 1783, the Kiser family, having purchased 1030 acres of land along the south fork of the Shenandoah River in what was then Rockingham County, Virginia, left Berks County, Pennsylvania for Virginia (the part of the state that is now Page County). Strohl, still being bound by his three year indenture, accompanied the Kiser family.

On September 7, 1785, days before the expiration of his indenture, Christian Strohl/Strole purchased from Martin Strickler, 300 acres of land between the Shenandoah River and Peaked Mountain (in what was then Rockingham County, Virginia, and is now Page County). The home which he soon after built still stands today. On April 8, 1788, just over five years since Christian had been indentured to the Kiser family, he married Kiser's daughter, Elizabeth. In all, Christian and Elizabeth had fourteen children between 1789 and 1814.

Short end of it... it just seems interesting how the family's memory of the American Revolution (whether it be the memory of relatives in the State Line or in the Hessian army) had nearly faded into oblivion by the time my generation came along. Quite honestly, other than a few bits and pieces that have managed to linger over the years, the family memory of the Civil War isn't much better.

Incidentally, the other Hessian ancestor (at least it seems quite possible at this point) was Peter Weiggert/Weygand (later changed to "Wyant"). Like Strohl, Weiggert belonged to the Hesse-Hanau Regiment and was among those surrendered shortly after the battle of Saratoga. However, unlike Strohl, Peter "Wyant" "deserted" (I know, it's confusing to explain, but... yes, he deserted... while a prisoner of war. See Wikipedia's definition of the Convention Army for a better understanding) from the Hessian Barracks (aka Albemarle Barracks) at Charlottesville on February 23, 1781, and apparently assimilated well into the population in the area.

John M. “Jack” Dogans was the only free black in Page County to leave a record of his wartime experience as a Unionist through his Southern Loyalist claim. As one who vocalized his interests in the Union and the hope that its success would result in the freedom for all slaves, Dogan’s life was regularly threatened. In one of the documented incidents, Dogans heard from “old Mr. John Smith” that a party of men said that they meant to “kill that damn nigger [Dogans] down at the furnace.” Following the First Battle of Manassas in July 1861, when local merchant David E. Almond assembled several “free negroes” to serve as teamsters with the Confederate army, Dogans was pressed into the service. When Dogans voiced his opinion over the matter, Sheriff Benjamin F. Grayson told him simply that “we’ll shoot you if you don’t go.” After driving a wagon for about sixty days, Dogans returned to Page County and continued to support the Union troops who occupied the county for the balance of the war.

Dogans is listed as Dugans in the 1860 Page County census as a forty-one year old mulatto with $45 in real estate. Dogans’ Southern Loyalist Claim was the only claim filed by a former free black in Page County, and was approved by the claims commission.

So, while the hunt continues for the elusive Black Confederates, let us not overlook both the other side of the story and those who endured the other side of the story. "Lest we forget," indeed.

On the Emerson side of my family, my lineal ancestor, Henry K. Emerson - was a Confederate soldier, a private in Co. D, 7th Virginia Cavalry. He enlisted in 1861 and appears to have remained with the regiment through the end of the war. He had one brother in another company of the 7th and another brother in Co. E, 33rd Virginia Infantry. They were residents of Page County, in the Shenandoah Valley.

However, my branch of the Emerson family - Henry's father, William - had left another branch behind in Alexandria, Virginia around the early 1820s. The branch that remained behind in Alexandria included William's brothers - John Simpson Emmerson and Harrison A. Emmerson.

Harrison had one son who fought in the war - John C. Emmerson. He enlisted as a private in Co. G, 3rd Maryland Cavalry (USA) on 24 September 1863. I haven't had the opportunity to research his service, but ancestry.com records show that he was mustered out at Vicksburg, Mississippi on 7 September 1865. I think this may be in error and think (because I can find no trace of him after the war) that he may have died in the war.

John Simpson Emmerson had at least one son who served in the war, but on the side of the Confederacy. A tin and coppersmith by trade, Benjamin Franklin Emerson enlisted as a private in the Mt. Vernon Guards in 1859. When the war came, his company was mustered-in as Company E, 17th Virginia Infantry on 17 April 1861 at Alexandria. Wounded at Frayser's Farm, he died in Richmond of wounds received, on 19 July 1862. His remains were not returned to Alexandria until after the war.

Benjamin also had a brother, Edwin Arthur Emerson. Edwin, however, did not fight. He was an actor. In fact, he was a leading man in the Ford Stock Company [Ford's Theatre], and... he was well-acquainted with one famous actor of the time, John Wilkes Booth.

Actress Si Snider (later an actress in "Our American Cousin") wrote that she "first met J. Wilkes Booth at a dinner given by Mr. Ford to our company on Christmas night, 1864. Booth was not a member of our company, but he was a great friend of Mr. E. A. Emerson, leading man of our stock company, and he came to the theater often to see Emerson. We all respected Booth because he was a good actor, was courteous and kindly, but none of us except Mr. Emerson felt very friendly toward him because he was cold, taciturn, aloof and at times seemed almost arrogant..."

"I knew John Wilkes Booth well," wrote Edwin Emerson, "having played with him in dozens of cities, throughout the East and Middle West. He was a kind-hearted, genial person, and no clverer gentleman ever lived. Everybody loved him on the stage, though he was a little excitable and eccentric." However, early on April 14, 1865, Emerson recalled that while he was "standing in front of Ford's Theatre... John [Wilkes Booth] walked up, and evidently in an agitated state of mind. He grabbed the cane from my hands and said, 'Ned, did you hear what the old scoundrel did the other day?' I asked him who he was talking about and he answered, 'Why, that old scoundrel Lincoln. He went into Jeff Davis' house in Richmond, sat down, and threw his long legs over the arm of a chair and squirted tobacco juice all over the place. Somebody ought to kill him.' I said, 'For God's sake, John, stop where you are! I am going to quit you.' With that he pulled my cane down over his shoulders with such a force that it broke in four places." [Emerson still had the cane in the early 1900s].

That night, Emerson was playing the role of Lord Dundreary in "Our American Cousin." When the Lincolns arrived in their booth, one account recalled that "Florence Trenchard" (played by Laura Keene) was telling a joke to "Lord Dundreary." Another account remembered, perhaps more accurately, that the Lincolns arrived when Emerson was delivering a line - "Why does a dog waggle his tail?" ("F. Trenchard" replies) "Upon my word, I never inquired." (to which Emerson replied) "Because the tail can't waggle the dog! Ha! Ha!"

According to his account in the June 1913 issue of Theatre Magazine, Emerson noted that, later, "near the beginning of the third act... I was standing in the wings, just behind a piece of scenery, waiting for my cue to go on, when I heard a shot. I was not surprised, nor was anyone else behind the scenes. Such sounds are too common during the shifting of the various sets to surprise an actor. For a good many seconds after that sound nothing happened behind the footlights. Then, as I stood there in the dimness, a man rushed by me, making for the stage door. I did not recognize Booth at the time, nor did anyone else, I think, unless, someone out on the stage, when he stood a moment and shouted with theatrical gesture, 'Sic Semper Tyrannis!' (So perish all tyrants!) Even after he flashed by, there was quiet for a few moments among the actors and the stage hands. No one knew what had happened. Then the fearful cry, springing from nowhere it seemed, ran like widfire behind the scenes: 'The President's shot!' Everyone began to swirl hither and thither in hysterical aimlessness. Still, the curtain had not been rung down, for noone seemed to have retained one scintilla of self-possession - and the actors on the stage were left standing there as though paralyzed. Then someone dropped the curtain and pandemonium commenced. The police came rushing in to add to the chaos and, for what seemed an hour, the confusion was indescribable. One incident stands out plainly in my memory from the confusion of men and sound that turned the stage into chaos. As I was running aimlessly to and fro behind the scenes - as everyone else was - a young lady, coming out from a dressing room, asked the cause of all the uproar. 'President Lincoln has just been shot!' I replied. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, and closing her eyes, was sinking limp to the floor in a faint when I caught her and carried her into her dressing room. She was Miss Jennie Gourlay, one of the then well-known family of actors, and that night, playing the part of Mary Trenchard. This little episode exhausts my recollection of anything coherent during the time immediately following the shooting. Those who first attempted to aid Mr. Lincoln tore his clothes from him in the most frantic manner in their efforts to locate the wound. I was told by several of the men connected with the theatre, among them young Mr. Ford, who had charge of the ticket office, that, when he was brought out, he had been practically denuded of all his outer garments. Later on, when the place was cleared, I went into the box where the assasination had occurred. Just by the side of Lincoln's chair, was a program, half-crumpled. On it was a dark wet spot, which I do not say positively, was the life-blood of the President, but in my own mind, I cam convinced it was. This program, that no doubt was held in the hand of Mr. Lincoln..."

Actress Si Snider later recollected that "none of us, even Mr. Emerson, could ever understand Booth's act."

As I mentioned, I did not know about Emerson until about a year or so ago, yet, I find curious interest knowing that he, my first cousin, 4 times removed (and a 1st cousin outright to my lineal ancestor, Henry K. Emerson), was present on that evening in the very play which Lincoln enjoyed in his last conscious minutes of life.

About two years ago, when I was compiling data for my thesis, I looked at the referendum numbers and, naturally, the number of Southern Claims Commission applications immediately "sent up red flags." It seemed like the next most logical step to take was to look at the voting records - both the 1859 gubernatorial vote and the 1860 presidential vote. While the numbers represented in these two votes helped to make things a little more clear, the results weren't as satisfying as I would have liked them to be. The most obvious thing to come out of the research was that raw numbers by themselves mean very little and are deceiving if taken into consideration solely by themselves, which regretfully, a number of people, when reflecting on the Confederacy as a whole, take too much to heart.

Then too, there is the unknown factor that still plagues this research. For example, how many people were quiet Unionists and left not a trace of evidence to let us know?

I think Daniel E. Sutherland took all of this into consideration when he put together his contribution to his larger collection of works titled, Guerrillas, Unionist, and Violence on the Confederate Home Front. A part of his chapter on Culpeper County can be found in the partial limited preview that is available through Google Books. Of course, Culpeper is east of the Valley and is not Page County (the focus of my thesis), and, in turn, Page County is not the rest of the Shenandoah Valley. This is to show that each county needs to be examined on a case by case basis. Throw in the numbers of Confederate deserters (which Sutherland did in his analysis as well) from units from the respective counties (and other related data) and the thing becomes even more of a tangled mess to understand.

However, all in all, I think that's a good thing - to add confusion to the mix (uh oh, sounds like I've incorporated too much from my hypertext theory course lately, especially when it comes to "chaos theory") - as we need to get the point across that the idea of sentiments during the war (especially when ideas are touted that there was a “Solid South” behind the idea of Confederacy) is an extremely sticky point to wrap one’s head around. What’s even more interesting, if you look at the numbers in the Valley, you have to wonder, considering Stonewall Jackson’s famous saying, “If the Valley is lost, Virginia is lost,” if he understood that losing the Valley to incoming Union armies was not the only thing that he had to worry about in "holding the line" there.

• Augusta County - 10 shown as opposed to secession through the referendum, yet 213 submitted applications to the Southern Claims Commission (see the Valley of the Shadow site for complete transcriptions of the claims from Augusta County).

• Berkeley County - 1,303 opposed; approx. 14 claims

• Clarke County - 15 3 opposed; approx. 3 claims

• Frederick County - 359 opposed; approx. 72 claims

• Jefferson County - 365 opposed; over 40 claims

• Page County - 4 opposed; approx. 30 claims

• Rockbridge County - 1 opposed; approx. 14 claims

• Rockingham County - 22 opposed; approx. 179 claims (see this site for some specifics about claims submitted from Rockingham County residents, as well as this series of books)

• Shenandoah County - 5 opposed; approx. 75/76 claims

• Warren County - 3 opposed; approx. 17 claims

With the exception of the counties in the northern Valley (Berkeley, Jefferson, Frederick and Clarke all having less claimants as compared to the number that opposed secession in the referendum), the numbers of applicants in the rest of the counties of the Valley exceed (sometimes significantly) the number shown as opposed to secession in the respective counties.

I'll have a third set of numbers to add to these numbers tomorrow.

• Augusta - 3,130 for secession; 10 opposed

• Berkeley - 508 for secession; 1,303 (opposed

• Clarke - 553 for secession; 3 opposed

• Frederick - 1,503 for secession; 359 opposed

• Jefferson - 813 for secession; 365 opposed

• Page - 1,099 for secession; 4 opposed

• Rockingham - 3,012 for secession; 22 opposed

• Rockbridge - 1,728 for secession; 1 opposed

• Shenandoah - 2,513 for secession; 5 opposed

• Warren - 675 for secession; 3 opposed

I find the numbers opposed to secession in Berkeley County particularly interesting.

I have said it before, raw numbers can be deceiving. With that in mind, tomorrow, I'll look at some other items related to secession and the referendum vote in the Shenandoah Valley.

While I can't speak with confidence just yet on the referendum for secession in Rockbridge, I have spent a considerable amount of time looking at a county in the central Shenandoah Valley.

On the surface, the results of the referendum for secession in Page County, Virginia show that 1,099 were in favor and four opposed; seemingly a reflection of overwhelming support for secession.[1]

A review of the Southern Loyalist Claims (aka, Southern Claims Commission applications) for Page County, however, reveals that several men had been reluctant to vote, mostly out of fear of retaliation.[2] Morgan M. Price and Martin Ellis felt that it was not safe to go to the polls with their sentiments. Ellis elaborated that there was too “much excitement” to side against secession. Price remembered, albeit incorrectly, that only one man voted against secession, and that that man was forced to “leave immediately to save himself from the mob.”[3] William H. Sours remained away from the polls and stated that “My sympathies were with the Union Cause. I did not talk much in favor of the Union. I had to be careful how I expressed my sentiment. I feared that I would be arrested if I spoke much.” Both James C. Robertson and Joseph Painter, Sr. remembered that they were too afraid to go to the polls. Painter was “informed that a party was coming out to hang several of us unless we would come out and vote for secession.”[4]

For those few Page County residents who applied for loyalist claims in years after the war, yet had been on record as having voted for secession, most stated that they had cast their votes either under an "illusion" presented by others or under duress.[5] Samuel Varner claimed that he had voted for secession because he was told if he “wanted peace he must vote for secesh.” Martin Hite noted that he had been “persuaded to vote for the adoption of the ordinance.” Joseph Miller simply noted that he was obliged to vote for secession through “fear.” [6] However, anyone who voted for secession, no matter the circumstances, would not receive approval for their loyalist claim. Nevertheless, understanding that the threat of bodily harm kept some men away from the polls to express their sentiment, it is not difficult to believe that some who had voted in favor of secession may well have done so out of fear for their lives or that of their families. Thus, even after Lincoln’s call for troops and the almost unanimous show of public support through the public referendum vote, Unionists were still very much a presence in Page County.

As historian John Inscoe points out, after the “secession process was completed and the war under way . . . the fluidity of the political debate as it had evolved in different ways in different states over the winter and spring of 1860-61 quickly gave way to the hard-and-fast allegiances demanded by two nations at war.” He further goes on to state that “suddenly to be a Unionist made one part of a self-conscious minority viewed with suspicion and hostility, a minority whose very presence threatened the new regime and its cause . . . Those who clung to what had been merely one side of a vigorous political debate were suddenly perceived as subversive and even traitorous, as ‘enemies to the country.”[7] The example of the experiences of Page County Unionists fits very well into Inscoe’s description, especially considering the reign of fear that followed the public referendum vote.